The night whispered to me,
and told me a funny thing about beauty,
some say you're insane,
you’re hearing things,
but the voice bubbled out of the little girl I used to be,
the truth escaped from a journal beside my bed,
from a story dated 11/16/10,
a day that most would call perfect,
no clouds and a big yellow ball,
but I draw,
my gray curtains on the day that won’t go away,
they say the sun rises to let you live once more,
but dear Mr. Sun,
"Can’t you ever take a sick day?"
let me stay in a safe place,
a victim of the battlegrounds of highschool halls,
the biggest bully standing in my mirror,
Dear dairy,
I began so innocently like a child with a box of crayons,
scribble this and color that,
no one told me that they changed my colored sticks of wax to black,
with a tear in the first paragraph,
I wrote about a perfect being,
a model human,
one that I could never be,
with a flowing dress of sparkling pink,
and a painted smile that the rains can’t wash away,
she was beautiful,
she wasn’t me,
so with jealousy I slammed that journal closed,
and ended a life of fantasy,
I thought my story disappeared when I chose not to look at it,
but then I realized that the pressures of appearance never die,
never,
that night I shut my eyes to a world that I didn’t quite fit in,
until the whispering began,
from my toes to my head,
the words wiggled and squirmed,
and ate that journal page,
the whisperers said,
“You were created beautiful,
truly believe that you mean so much to so many people,
past regrets have nothing on you,
you are strong,
strong enough to fight the pains of day,
and strong enough to smile when life doesn’t go your way,
Believe the whispers of your friends,
You don't need to be a model or get the hottest guy,
be you and beauty is not hard to find.”